


Slay the World

by Starts_with_a_D



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Hänsel und Gretel | Hansel and Gretel (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Attempted Murder, F/M, Meat-eaters, Not as dark as it sounds guys, Online Dating, Serial Killers, dating apps, frankfurt, fyi Gretel and Hansel are NOT related in this one, salads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 05:41:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16423490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starts_with_a_D/pseuds/Starts_with_a_D
Summary: Hansel and Gretel meet through Breadcrumbs, a new dating app guaranteed to find their perfect match.Completely unrelated: Two serial killers are tearing their way through Frankfurt.





	Slay the World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GeneralSan_3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeneralSan_3/gifts).



> I tried to wait until Halloween to post this, but I just couldn't wait! It's not like what I usually write, but I hope you enjoy!

##  _Friar Tuck-In Strikes Again!_

A group huddled around the newsstand, umbrellas propped up against the rain and heads bent into the papers, whispering about the newest murder.

“Just you wait!” an old, bent man hissed. “Tomorrow the headline will be about the Candy Killer!”

The woman beside him shivered. “I don’t know what Germany is coming to,” she whimpered. “Two serial killers in Frankfurt? They’ll kill us all!”

Cornelia’s fingers dug into Gretel’s upper arm, her eyes widening. “They’re here to slay the world.”

Gretel rolled her eyes as she scanned the news article. Once again, the police had found no evidence of Friar Tuck-In’s identity.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Cornelia,” Gretel griped, stuffing the newspaper into her jacket-pocket. “Two serial killers couldn’t even slay a city, let alone the world.” She tugged her arm out of Cornelia’s grasp and started up the street again. “Come on, we’ll be late for work.”

“You’re breathing hard, Gretel,” Cornelia observed with a smile. She poked her friend in her squishy, ample side. “You’ve gained too much weight.”

Gretel smacked her arm. “Hush, you! You know I like to eat a lot of meat.”

Her phone dinged, and she unconsciously licked her lips. Mmmm, speaking of meat . . .

“Are you still using that silly app?” Cornelia asked as Gretel pulled her phone out and typed an answer--- _clickety-clack!_ \--- to the message she had received. “Why don’t you use something normal, like Tinder?”

“What, you mean Breadcrumbs?” Gretel looked up with a silly smile on her face. “Breadcrumbs is a fantastic dating app! It’s exactly what I need!”

Cornelia rolled her eyes. “Right. Are you still talking to that guy, er, Otto?”

Gretel blinked. “I told you about Otto? That didn’t work out. He moved on. I’m talking with someone else now.”

Her friend smirked. “Oh? _Who_?”

Gretel angled her phone away so Cornelia couldn’t see the name on her screen. “Nobody! I just started talking with him. It’s too early to say where this is going.”

Cornelia pouted. “At least tell me he’s hot.”

Gretel flushed. She had sent the man a photo of herself last night, a photo she was sort of regretting now: It was a couple years old, and Gretel felt she looked too young, too babyish. Perhaps he would like that. Perhaps she would benefit if he thought she was innocent and childlike.

He hadn’t yet sent a photo of himself.

“I don’t know,” she muttered, turning away from Cornelia. “Honestly, I’ll probably never even meet him.”

Cornelia patted Gretel’s arm, her eyes softening. “Oh, Gretel, there’s a man out there for you!”

Gretel put her hand into her pocket where the newspaper was folded. _Yes,_ she thought, almost stroking the page. _There surely is._

Another ping. She left Cornelia’s arm and eagerly retrieved her phone while her friend laughed.

 _tnx for the photo_ , the new message read, the little chat bubble extending from the username: **HansOn**.

Gretel grinned and typed cheerily, Cornelia moaning as she pulled her friend from the path of yet another pedestrian. _Do I get one in return?_ she asked.

A winky face. _Maybe after work_ , came the reply. _You know how my boss is_ :(

Gretel knew. Her boss was the same way: No personal texting while on work. She groaned as they passed through the dark wooden doors of the ancient publishing company. Cornelia rubbed her back soothingly, biting back a smile.

“Cheer up, girl, it’s only eight hours.”

Eight hours of no **HansOn**. As Gretel slumped into her desk chair, she slid her phone reluctantly into her bag, peeking through the glass wall to gauge what her boss’s mood would be today.

He was eating a salad, choking down the stringy, green spinach piece by piece by piece.

Salad day. Great.

Her boss speared a piece of something feathery and green---kale?---and put it up to his face, his already red skin darkening further. Gretel shook her head, surreptitiously retrieving her phone. She couldn’t do it. She just _couldn’t_ face another salad day alone.

Bent low over her phone, she typed, _Work’s not going to stop me today. I’ve too many tragic things to tell you._

 **HansOn** replied with a smiley face, then, _How could such a beautiful woman have a tragic life?_

 _Oh, not me,_ Gretel reassured him, then glanced around to make sure no one was watching. Carefully she raised her camera so it peered over the edge of her desk through the glass wall. A slouched marketer stood in front of the boss’s desk, twisting his hands together in fear.

 _This is the face of a salad-eating man_ , Gretel mourned, snapping a careful picture as her boss yelled his face even redder.

 _Doesn’t look like that salad’s doing him much good_ , came the reply. _But salads are healthy!_

She shuddered, risking a glance down at her screen to type. _Yes, but at what cost?_ She _tsk_ ed as the marketer bounced through the door, his back curved even more.

 _Hopefully not the cost of your sanity,_ the man replied swiftly. She squirmed with delight, replying with, _Don't count on it._ Was she really getting him to break his work rules? Maybe she could get him to send her a photo . . .

“Andersen!”

Gretel dropped her phone, shooting to an upright sitting position so quickly she gasped.

“Boss! Oh, uh-”

Her red-faced employer planted his hands on her desk in between the family photo and the day planner. “Remind me what I pay you for, Andersen.”

She shrunk back into her chair under his piercing gaze. “Uh, boss, well, I think-”

He slammed his hands down and Gretel jumped. “I pay you to be the best secretary in Frankfurt! Now, what was in your hands just now?” When she hesitated, he beckoned impatiently. “Show me, show me now.”

Slowly, her face burning at the watching eyes, Gretel reached down to the floor.

Her boss's red face seemed to expand with rage as she brought her hand up. “Are you literally incompetent, Andersen?!”

Gretel looked at the heeled shoe she held and shrugged. “The leather had a crack in it, sir. I was just leaning over to smooth it out! Only the best for the company.”

He slammed his hands on her desk once more, but this time she didn't flinch, just watched as he walked away.

Sometimes Gretel wished Friar Tuck-In or the Candy Killer would just make her boss . . . disappear. But he was too well-known and influential for that too happen. She would have to put up with him.

She sighed, straightening her samurai sword letter opener. At least he did pay her well to be the best secretary in Frankfurt.

 **HansOn** had not texted back.

Cornelia laughed when she saw Gretel huddled in the corner of the restroom soon after. “Honey, why do you always get so attached?” She playfully elbowed Gretel’s side as the other woman pretended to ignore her in favor of **HansOn**. “These men will just break your heart, they always do!”

Gretel smirked. “He’s not going to break my heart, Cornelia. If anything, _I’m_ going to break _his_.”

Cornelia washed her hands with a tinkling laugh and strode out, calling, “I’ve got ice cream when things go south, Gretel!”

But ice cream wasn’t what Gretel wanted. She wanted this man.

Nervously, she typed in the words, _Let’s meet up tomorrow!_

Before she hit “Send,” **HansOn** ’s message reached her. _About to go into the longest, most boring meeting of my career. Wish me luck._

Gretel gulped and erased her message, replacing it with, _You don’t need luck._

At long last the clock struck five. “See you tomorrow, Gretel!” someone called from behind her, but she wasn’t listening anymore. She needed to put as much space between her and the salad-eating boss as possible.

The Breadcrumbs app took only a moment to load once she reached the street, the screen flashing red before the chatroom opened. She had a new message from **HansOn** , so obviously his long, boring meeting had finally ended.

She paused in the middle of the sidewalk as she read it. Cornelia frowned at her.

“Him again?”

Gretel wasn’t listening, fixated on the words on the screen.

_How about instead of a photo i buy you dinner?_

Gretel took in a deep, long breath. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she said, forcing a laugh. “I just can’t really text and walk at the same time!” Cornelia rolled her eyes and linked their arms again, guiding Gretel through the crowds.

This was sooner than Gretel had expected. He was eager.

She swallowed and typed a quick reply while hiding her smile. Otto had been _weeks_ ago. She was ready for something new.

* * *

Gretel applied a thin layer of lipstick, pursed her lips, then added another.

She sighed, muttering, “Too much, too much . . .” as she rubbed it all away. In her mind’s eye, she imagined her date, picturing a man smiling cheekily, round and plump like she was, older like she was. This was how all her dates began, if she was honest to herself: imagining the perfect man.

She had told Otto, “I have very particular tastes in men.” He had laughed at that and told her he didn’t mind if she was picky. “In fact,” he had said, “I rather enjoy it about you,” looking at her from the corner of his eye with that quiet little smile.

Once he figured out her preferences, he hadn’t laughed anymore.

Otto had been perfect, but gone too soon: A lonely man with few friends, plump (she didn’t like her men too skinny), barely taller than she was, and a voracious meat-eater.

She _hated_ vegetarians and vegans. What a waste of a good man.

 **HansOn** had chosen a restaurant that gave her hope for him: She had gone there before to buy breakfast, and there had been plenty _bratwurst_ with the potatoes. Perhaps he was a meat lover as she was.

A few subtle questions he had asked also reassured her that he would have no issue following her back to her house on the first date.

She almost decided that there was no point in cleaning her bedroom after straightening up the living room and kitchen; after all, if all went well, he would never make it that far. But, before she shimmied into her dress and heels and touched up her makeup, she cleaned off her desk and stuffed her sword collection under the bed and into the closet. _You never know what’s going to happen_ , she thought, carefully wiping a smudge of stray lipstick from her cheek.

Gretel surveyed herself in the mirror, trying to smile at what she saw. A silky black dress with a slit up her side. Lustrous pearls. Smoky eyes. Red heels.

She looked killer. Giving herself finger guns in the mirror, she whispered, “You’re gonna slay tonight, girl!”

Gretel had no car, so she wrapped her red coat around her to stave off the wind, clicking down the sidewalks in her heels. October was well and truly there, and she shivered as she walked the few blocks to the restaurant. There were fewer people on the streets than there would normally be---no doubt a byproduct of the two serial killers haunting the nights of Frankfurt. Gretel’s lips twitched at this. Wouldn’t it just be her luck to be snatched by the Candy Killer before she finally got what she wanted tonight?

 _Yes, that would be too bad_ , she thought, her mind wandering to the news article just that morning about the most recent murder. The Candy Killer’s victims were all female, and they were all killed the same way: their fingers were cut off while they were still conscious, and then they were burned alive.

Police psychologists--and everyone else--had tried their hands at guessing the reasons behind these violent murders. Bad girlfriend? Abusive mother? Perhaps these were true, but no one had made any headway in guessing the reasons behind the last bit of evidence the Candy Killer left behind, the piece that had earned him his nickname: A morsel of little-known German candy placed delicately on the victim’s charred tongue.

Gretel skittered to a halt in front of the restaurant, her legs shivering in the wind. Other than the pre-mortem finger amputation, the rest didn’t sound so bad, especially in this chilly weather. If **HansOn** was no good, perhaps she could go looking for the Candy Killer and see if he tasted better . . .

She jumped as a hand tapped her shoulder. A slim man stood there, bent slightly forward to lessen his considerable height. In the badly-lit night, the flecks of gray in his brown hair glittered faintly.

“Excuse me,” he said, his voice a lovely bass despite his thin frame, “you are wearing a red coat. Is your name Gretel Andersen?”

Gretel looked him up and down, allowing a smile to stretch her mouth. “You’re wearing red shoes,” she pointed out. “Are you Hansel Christian?”

His nose wrinkled as he returned the smile. “That’s me,” he replied, holding out a hand for her to shake. His smile and voice were quiet like Otto’s.

Gretel tilted her head to the side. He was painfully skinny, but his grip was strong. Perhaps he would do.

She barely had to scan the menu before ordering the largest and meatiest slice of meat they had. She could feel her mouth salivating, then watched Hansel expectantly as he ordered. Would he be impressed?

He ordered a salad, with---she perked up a little at this---a side of chicken.

Not a _total_ loss, then.

“I know you probably can’t stand the sight of salads,” he told her apologetically, “but I just can’t drop the healthy food.”

Gretel sighed, eyeing the healthy blush in his cheeks. “As long as it doesn’t turn you into a raging, red-faced buffoon! Everyone keeps on telling me I should eat more salads, but I can’t drop that meat.”

Hansel shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “My step-mother was obsessed with what I ate growing up,” he confessed as he tossed his salad together. “Wouldn’t even let me eat candy. It’s been more than twenty years since I’ve lived with her and I can’t break the habit.”

Gretel’s mouth fell open. “Not even _candy_?” she gasped. “And I thought I had it bad growing up!”

Hansel looked amused as he eyed her. “What do you mean?”

She paused, wondering how much she should tell him. “My family didn’t have a lot of money when I was young. I really got into the habit of eating anything I could get my hands on. Still do.”

“There you go.” He beamed. “Everyone has reasons for the things they do! Just because we are different from each other, doesn’t mean either of us is wrong.”

She met his eyes and blushed a little. Oh, he would be singing a different tune later this evening.

The conversation shifted, and soon they were talking about hobbies and pastimes.

“You’re a brave man, to jog through the woods at night,” Gretel said, internally vomiting at the thought of exercise. “I would be so scared of getting lost---or meeting the Candy Killer!”

Hansel choked on his drink and had to take a moment to recover. “Oh, well, er, I carry pepper spray, so . . .”

He smiled, too fast and too wide. _He’s nervous_ , Gretel thought. _Even if he is a health freak, he’s cute_.

“Besides,” Hansel went on, “I’m more worried about Friar Tuck-In!”

Gretel carefully chewed her meat and swallowed. The flavor was not quite what she was hungry for. “The cannibal? Why?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Um, because it’s cannibalism? How creepy is that? Not only will he _kill_ you, he’ll _eat_ you! And most of the victims have been men and women around my age, so the heavens only know how he’s finding them---”

“How do you know it’s a man?” Gretel demanded. “Women can be serial killers too!”

Hansel blinked. “Of course they can. I know that. Though I’m not sure if that’s an aspect of women’s rights that really deserves defending . . .”

They left the restaurant at half-past ten and went for drinks at the nearest bar, wrapping their bodies against the wind, laughing at one of Gretel's jokes, almost touching, but not quite . . . not yet.

They left the bar just before the clocks chimed midnight, deliciously warmed by the drinks. A slight wind had picked up as the evening descended, and Gretel pulled her coat tighter around herself even as she laughed at something Hansel said.

She liked him, and wondered if maybe she should wait until after the second or third date before she made her move.

But she was so hungry . . . and the longer she dated him, the more likely he would tell his family and friends, and the more likely she would be exposed.

Gretel sighed. He was a bit skinny, but he would do.

She hooked her arm through his, surreptitiously testing the muscles in his arms, her bare fingertips brushing against the edges of his gloves. He blinked down at her in surprise, his cheeks turning red again.

“Walk me home,” she murmured, looking at him through her eyelashes.

He had green eyes, she saw now that she was closer. “Of course,” he whispered back, the sound perfectly understandable even with the drunk midnight crowd surrounding them.

Hansel’s hand did not leave the small of her back for the entire walk home. She looked left and right carefully as she inserted her key into the clattering lock, but she needn’t have bothered: she already knew the next-door neighbors were out of town, and nobody was out on the street or peeking through windows on that cold October night. She was safe. The door closed with a swift finality behind them.

Hansel raised his eyes to observe the entryway, his feathery brown hair shining in the hall light. A soft smile touched the corner of his mouth.

“Tea?” Gretel asked. Hansel nodded, his fingers flexing inside the gloves like they were cold as he shifted out of his coat and then took hers.

She led him to the kitchen, anticipation running down her arms as she pulled the special tea---the one she gave all her dates---from the cupboard. She could hear him advancing on her from behind as she busied at the stove.

“Your home is beautiful,” Hansel murmured. Perhaps Gretel was just imagining it, but she could almost feel his breath on her neck. She tried not to shiver as she lit the stove and put the kettle on.

“It was my father’s,” she whispered. “We didn’t have much, but we had this house. He left it to me when he---”

She stopped, an old grief twisting in her. Her father hadn’t been good to her---and she had gotten him back for that---but oh! how she missed him at times.

Hansel’s gloved hands rested on her shoulders from behind, his thumbs stroking her back. It felt good. It was gratifying how quickly Hansel had latched on to her, how easily he had agreed to come home with her. It made her feel wanted.

They had until the tea was ready. Why not get his blood pumping a little? He would taste all the better after.

Gretel smoothly turned around, letting his hands fall back on her shoulders from the front. She ran her fingers down the front of his shirt, feeling the cotton, the buttons, and beneath.

She looked at him from underneath her eyelashes again and slid her arms around his waist and down, into his back pockets to pull him closer.

Her hand had come into contact with a small, round, hard object at the bottom of his pocket that crinkled when she touched it.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips parted, his breath brushing her face.

Gretel pulled the object out. As she expected, it was a candy.

Hansel and Gretel did not say anything for several moments as she looked at the cellophane-wrapped item. It was an obscure German candy. She only knew the kind because of the news articles featuring it in recent weeks.

“Ohhhhhh,” she sighed long and low as her brain finally put all the pieces together. “You’re the Candy Killer.” She laughed, a short, nervous sort of laugh, glancing at the tea on the counter. “Well, this is . . . awkward.”

“I apologize, but you should be more careful about who you bring home, Gretel,” Hansel said, his mouth twisting ruefully and his hands tightening around her upper arms.

“My neighbor---”

“---didn’t see us,” he assured her. Gretel could feel her heart beating in her ears. “I’ve been doing this for a long time. I’d say I’d make it fast and painless, but, well, I usually don’t bother.”

“You use the Breadcrumbs dating app to find victims??” Gretel demanded, trying to pull away from his iron grip. “And here I was thinking you actually liked me!”

Hansel rolled his eyes. “I’m about to murder you, and you’re worried about me not actually liking you? Are you insane?”

She twisted her arms away, but he pushed her, hard, against the counter, then trapped her there with his height. Gretel twisted again but froze when she saw he had slid her huge carving knife out of the rack on the counter.

Her teeth clenched. Her plans, foiled---by _this?_ “I’m just offended,” she snapped. “Besides, this ruins my evening. I’m hungry!”

Hansel rolled his eyes, making a grab for her hand. She wondered if she should scream. “You just ate! _I_ paid for your huge slice of steak!”

“Not hungry for _that_!”

He stared at her, blushing again. “Gretel . . . I mean, you’re very beautiful, but I’m didn't actually---I'm not---I didn’t come home with you because---”

“No, dummy!” and she pulled out a small plastic bag from her pocket before he could react.

Hansel flinched back instinctively, then looked more closely. The plastic bag was full of breadcrumbs, the most generic kind that could be bought at a store.

“Breadcrumbs . . .” he murmured. “Breadcrumbs?”

These had been featured prominently on the news as well, but not connected to the Candy Killer. “I _see_ ,” Hansel breathed. “Why, if I haven’t gotten my hands on Friar Tuck-In herself . . .”

Gretel tried to calm her breathing. “So, why don’t we just count this as a mistake and go on our merry ways?”

Hansel did not appear to be listening. His mouth slowly fell open in horror. “You were going to _eat me_??”

“Of course!” she replied, injecting as much scorn into her voice as she could. “That’s what I _do_ , Hansel.”

He swallowed heavily.

“Besides, don’t you pretend you weren’t go to murder me in a gruesome fashion!” Gretel cried. “At least I _sedate_ my guests before I dig in!” She waved wildly at the tea on the counter.

Hansel looked ill. “This has been an awful misunderstanding.”

Gretel sniffed. “And I’m still hungry. Now I’m going to have to find someone else.”

The kettle came to life with a shriek. They both jumped, Hansel almost spearing her through with the knife. Gretel grabbed the kettle and snapped the stove off.

For a moment, they looked at each other, the short, round woman with boiling water and the tall, thin man clutching a knife. Their eyes, brown and green, narrowed with the tension in the air.

Finally, Hansel said, “This ruins my evening too,” and dropped the carving knife onto the counter with a clang that made Gretel jump. “I can’t kill you now!”

She smirked and replaced the teapot on the stove as he slumped against the wall. “What, don’t fit your sweet, innocent profile?” He shook his head, green eyes glittering in the softness of her kitchen light.

Gretel leaned against the counter, tilting her head as she considered him. Really, what had she been thinking? He was far too skinny. Still cute though, she thought as he blushed under her gaze. Perhaps, despite his dishonorable intentions, they could still have a good time together after all. Even . . . she let herself imagine, just for a moment . . .

Perhaps this _was_ her perfect man. A man who would respect her interests, let her do her thing. A man who might even cheer her on, as long as he didn’t have to watch her at it. Partners in . . . what?

“What are you staring at?” Hansel demanded, unable to meet her eyes.

“Your stepmother,” she said, and he jumped.

“What?”

“That’s why you only target women,” she muttered. “Your stepmother. And the candy . . .”

He rolled his eyes, pushing off the wall. “Yes, yes, you’ve figured me out. It’s not hard, I’ll admit.”

“My motives are fairly easy to guess too,” Gretel pointed out, waving her arms around the cozy kitchen as she advanced on him. “Poor family, not much to eat.”

“When was your first kill?”

For a moment, she was speechless, and he saw his mistake. “Oh! No, of course, too personal, we don’t know each other well---”

Gretel struggled to control her breathing, her stomach churning, and Hansel dithered for just a second.

“No, I should, uh, I should go. I’ll need a Plan B.”

Ducking his head under the lintel, he made for the door, but Gretel’s voice gave him pause. He turned back.

She held up the bag of breadcrumbs. “I have an idea of where we can go, if you don’t mind killing a man instead of a woman.”

Hansel stared. “We?”

“Oh, I’ll let you have the kill!” she reassured him, advancing. “Take his fingers, burn---whatever.” She stopped in front of him, licking her red, red lips. “Just let me have the meaty bits.”

“I don’t usually go for men,” he murmured, gulping as she wound her arms around his middle. “But it depends. Who do you have in mind?”

She squeezed, just slightly, feeling his ribs under her fingertips. “Just a poor man we can put out of his salad-eating misery.”

They locked eyes. A smile slowly grew on Gretel’s face as Hansel looked at her.

He opened his mouth, hesitated. “Just to be clear . . . we’re not talking about me, are we?”

She snorted, he grinned, and the next thing she knew, they were howling with laughter, clutching at each other for support. She wheezed into his jacket as he struggled to stifle his giggling.

Gretel hugged him closer, and Hansel returned the hug this time, both of them still grinning.

“You sure you want to hang out with me?” he asked, his hand stroking her hair. “It gets pretty dark. Pretty bloody.”

She smirked, and watched his cheeks darken as she squeezed. “Oh, honey. Blood’s the best part.”

* * *

Hansel went out onto Gretel’s porch for the newspaper the next morning. He ignored the headline--- _Serial Killers Team Up! Helpless Grandfather A Victim!_ \---and went straight to the funnies.

Gretel was on her laptop at the kitchen island, gnawing on a bone. Hansel wrinkled his nose as he browsed her fridge for normal food, but she only smiled sweetly.

“What are you doing, darling?” he asked, coming to stand behind her, his now-gloveless hands squeezing her to his side.

She was on the App Store website, typing away with a _clickety-clack_. “Just writing a review for the Breadcrumbs app!” she responded cheerily. “It’s been so helpful!”

 **MeatLover77** : _Met my soulmate last night with the Breadcrumbs app! He understands me so well, and we have so much in common! We’re just gonna slay the world together! 10-10 would recommend!_

**Author's Note:**

> Based off this prompt: "A male and female serial killer meet on a dating site, not knowing each other’s dark intentions to murder their date. It gets awkward once they realize what the other is really doing."


End file.
